


Opposites Attract

by TheJokersEnigma



Category: Gotham (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2018-09-22 02:50:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9579206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJokersEnigma/pseuds/TheJokersEnigma
Summary: Still not very good at summaries. Reader sees Ed kill Dougherty. Evil Ed wants to kill Reader, good Ed must protect her somehow? Maybe? Thats the vague idea anyway - though I am not 100% sure where I am going with it!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Ed nygma Fanfic (2nd Fanfic overall) - I have a vague idea what i want to do with this story but it only started from a random typing session or rubbish so I'm not sure how great it is.  
> Let me know if you want me to continue and I'll see what I can do!  
> Always love comments so let me know! Thank you! Enjoy!

[Y/N] tackled her hair into a ponytail before she then spun it into a bun on the back of her head. She checked it in the mirror and hid a few stray strands behind her ear, 5th times the charm she thought as she finally accepted her hair for what it was for the day and wandered out of the bathroom to finish getting her bag ready.  
Her worn out leather satchel squatted on one of the mis-matched kitchen chairs that were placed randomly around a wobbly table that sat in the middle of the kitchen. She dug through the bag pushing aside random crumpled pieces of paperwork from god-knows-how-long-ago. She pulled out a few that were in the way and quickly glanced over them – unimportant – they could sit on the table till she got back later and had time to decide to ignore them (as she knew would happen).  
[Y/N] blindly pushed her arm to the bottom of the bag searching with her fingers for anything that might be attached to her key chain. She felt her hand brush over something fluffy and she grabbed it, pulling it up to revel the limb of a small teddy and the rest of a rather cluttered key chain. It got hooked on a few pockets and a set of headphone wires on the way up, but after a few tugs they were left them hanging free from her hand.  
[Y/N] then grabbed her simple fabric purse from the counter top and threw it randomly on top of everything else in her bag before seizing a fleece that hung from the back of the random wicker chair by the table and turning the door knob of the front door.  
She pulled the door open, but was jerked to a stop when the door didn’t open. “Err, come on, I’m gonna be late!” she growled at the door. She bent down pulled the door bolt back. Then tried again and at last the door opened.  
Just as [Y/N] pulled it inwards she paused and dashed back to grab her phone she had left on the table, then headed back out the partially opened door into the dark morning, keys and phone in hand.  
Finally out of the house [Y/N] locked her door behind her before walking up the steep hillside of Gotham, unknotting her headphone wires and attempting to shove the buds in her ear in the exact way so that they would stay in.  
She never bothered with public transport. She hated the crush and the poor reliability of a bus, but couldn’t afford a car. Not that she really needed one – yeah, she hated lugging her groceries home, but at least she didn’t fork out a load of money each week for fuel. Especially as, at the moment, she needed every penny she could get.  
The walk to her little café was at least half an hour on a good day though – a day where the pedestrian crossings were on her side and she had the energy and motivation to power walk. A bad day was going on an hour. Luckily at this time of the morning there wasn’t too much traffic around and her journey was relatively peaceful. Though this was Gotham, where crime was at an unbelievably high rate, she felt safe wandering through the dark at this time – hell criminals had to sleep too.  
As she rounded the corner of a street she caught site of her little corner café. She had to admit it wasn’t the best place for a business like hers. It sat on the corner of a quiet little road a few streets away from the roaring trade of the high-street.  
It was hard enough running a café with all the competition that now filled every other business lot, but it was even harder when she wasn’t even in a good location. It made drawing in customers even harder than usual and so it was a constant work in progress to come up with something unique to draw people away from the busy centre. This something still eluded her and was what filled her old notebook she kept in her office.  
The customers she did were mainly regulars - either old acquaintances or friends of a friend or family member. She rarely saw a new face, and if she did it was only to point them in the direction of the main hub of shops or point them to a back street car park they had parked in but had lost among the winding streets.  
She sighed loudly as she reached the door of her quaint little shop. She shook out her key chain to dislodge the keys caught up in the metal rings and then examined each one, looking for the right one in the dull early morning light for the archaic metal lock.  
Eventually she let herself in and tapped her way through the few tables that lined the front of shop, her grubby daps slapping across the fake wooden floorboards. She switched on the lights, illuminating the central room. Like her house, none of the furniture in here matched, but [Y/N] liked to think that it gave the place a bit of character and didn’t want to admit to herself that it was actually because she couldn’t afford anything better.  
She made her way behind the counter and leant herself against the door frame of one of the two small rooms at the back of the café. This one functioned as her staff room and office and she threw her purse on the lone moth-eaten sofa that sat in the corner before pushing herself back out into the main room again. She strode around the small working space turning on machines and the cooling display cabinet before entering the other small back room.  
In here was her storage room and kitchen. It contained a large industrial sized oven and fridge as well other baking appliances and a walk in cupboard she used for food storage.  
An so it was, at 5am, [Y/N] pulled out her prepped batters and dough from the night before, cleared a space on her cramped work surfaces, and scrubbed her hands, before getting to work on prepping and baking for the day, stifling her yawns with the arm of her sleeve.  
After hours of prep, baking, cooling and decorating, [Y/N] had drunk 3 cups of coffee and everything was ready for opening. Her coffee machine was humming, her sandwiches were on display in her chilled display cabinet and her cakes and pastries were on show in their air-tight stands.  
She walked round the edges of the café, pulling the dark green blinds to reveal the high-reaching windows which made up the front walls and then righted the chairs that sat upside down on each table. Once she was happy with how the store looked she pulled the final blind on the café door to expose an open sign hanging in a miniature window at head height. She then moved back behind the counter to await her first customer for the day.

Edward Nygma stood before Officer Trent’s desk waiting for the man to return from wherever he currently was so that Ed could deliver a report on the stabbing of a 38 year old Caucasian male. Officer Trent and Officer Dougherty were both working the case, but Ed wanted to avoid Officer Dougherty as much as possible now that he was dating Miss Kringle. Even the very thought of their relationship sent a way of jealousy through him and he would be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined Dougherty when he had been stabbing some watermelon the night before to test a theory of his.  
Don’t think like that! He chided himself – he knew that was the other him - the him that needed to stay buried. Are you really surprised Miss Kringle chose him over you? Your nothing compared to him! You’re a loser - a nobody! Why not let me out and I’ll show her what she’s missing!  
“No.” Ed growled out loud causing a few officers to look up from their desks. However, on seeing it was Ed Nygma they no longer found it interesting and soon had their head buried back in their work. Ed flushed red in embarrassment.  
“Nygma!” Greeted Officer Trent from behind as he strode up to his desk.  
“Officer Trent –“, Ed paused as he saw the man following up behind Trent, “and Officer Dougherty.” Greeted Ed a little less enthusiastically.  
“Riddle man!” Exclaimed Officer Dougherty -naively cheerful in Ed’s opinion.  
They both looked at him expectantly, “Oh – uh – I have results on the victim – the killer used a rounded blunt object and would have been right handed.” He stated handing over the documents in his hands that contain the details of the case.  
“Thanks Riddle man.” Acknowledged Dougherty and Trent nodded as he took the file and flicked through the papers  
“Great.” An awkward silence fell over the group of men and the two officers exchanged looks, clearly wanting Ed to leave, but instead Ed spoke up,  
“No sooner spoken than broken.”  
“What?” Asked Trent, his eyebrows creasing in confusion.  
“It’s a riddle.” Stated Ed. “No sooner spoken than broken.”  
The two officers looked blankly at Ed and he smiled widely – he loved to best people, especially those in higher hierarchical positions then himself. “Silence.” He declared, grinning triumphantly.  
“Ah got me again Riddle man!” exclaimed Dougherty cheerfully. Trent grumbled something in agreement. Ed took this as enthusiasm and kept going,  
“My life can be measured in hours, I live by being devoured. Thin I am fast, fat I am slow. The wind is always my foe. What am I?”  
Just then Harvey Bullock marched up to the gathering around Trent’s desk, “Nygma! Where’s the Marisson report?!” He demanded before tuning into what was going on, “Not more riddles Ed?! Why don’t you make yourself useful and make a coffee run for all of us if you’re that bored.” Ed’s smile dropped instantly. Harvey seemed to take that as confirmation, “I’ll take mine with no sugar and a splash of milk!”  
“Black, 2 sugars riddle man” chipped in Dougherty as he walked off towards his desk.  
“Black for me.” added Trent sitting down at his desk with the case folder.  
“Best get to it then Ed!” Joked Harvey, “Oh and don’t forget that report as well!” he called back as wandered back the way he had come leaving Ed stood alone. “A candle.” Ed mumbled, answering his own riddle as he walk off, his mood now having plummeted.  
He made his way slowly around the precinct collecting orders for coffee. He hadn’t been stuck with the coffee run for a very long time – not since his first year on the job. Usually it was the intern’s job to get them out from under the precincts feet and it insulted Ed that he had to be subjected to the menial task. No one appreciates you here! They wouldn’t even notice if you never came back from the coffee run!  
Ed shook away his other voice as grabbed his coat and scarf from his office. You know if you just let me out you’d never have to do this. They would never even think about asking you to fetch the coffee. People would respect you. “Shut up. I don’t need your help!” he growled at the shadowy figure stood behind his desk. Before turning away and storming back out of his office and striding through the centre of the station, everyone ignoring him as usual.  
He stopped when he stepped outside, the cold air slammed into him and he wrapped his navy scarf tight around his neck and pulled on his black gloves. He didn’t even know where the coffee usually came from. He would just find the nearest coffee shop, pick up the dam coffee and put the whole situation down to experience –he shouldn’t talk to the officers until the coffee round was done – that way he wouldn’t run the risk of being subjected to this again.  
If he recalled correctly from his lunch time walks there was a café a few streets down from here. So he headed in the general direction he remembered, the cold biting his exposed cheeks and the wind tousling his dark hair.  
After walking for a few minutes he noticed a small café on the corner of the next road that had a sign reading ‘The Cup n’ Saucer’. That would do.  
As he got closer he took in the small building. The colour scheme was dark green and white. A 3 foot high brick wall with large, tall windows made up the two sides of the café and folded metal tables and chairs were propped up along the walls for when the weather was more pleasant. In Ed’s opinion it looked a bit out of place in Gotham - it was too pretty and picturesque for these dirty and polluted streets.  
He walked to the painted white door and pushed it open stepping into a wall of warmth that engulfed him and fogged his glasses slightly. He paused in the doorway to allow his sight to clear, untied his scarf so it hung freely around his neck and removed his gloves, stuffing them into one of his coat pockets.  
Once he could see clearly again he made his way to the deep green coloured wooden counter stood towards the back of the room. No one was behind the till at the moment and so he waited awkwardly looking around at his surroundings.  
The café wasn’t very busy – there were a few young people scattered at tables with laptops illuminating their faces, a middle aged couple sitting at a table in front of one of the front windows and an older gentlemen sitting alone in the corner with a book in his hand.  
“Sorry can I help you?” chirped a female voice from in front of him and he stopped his surveillance of the room to focus on the girl before him. She was a bit of a mess really, but a kind of cute mess. Her hair was tied up in a bun on the back of her head but most her hair seemed to have fallen out and was now cascading over her shoulder in curls. She wore a crinkled white blouse under a dark green apron that hung around her frame loosely. She appeared to be covered in specks of flour and some sort of cake mixture.  
“Y-Yes um. Some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it mild, some like it bold.” Ed recited, taken off-guard by her sudden appearance causing him to stammer slightly.  
“Excuse me?” [Y/N] blinked at the tall scrawny man in front of her. What had he said?  
“It’s coffee. The answer is coffee.” He stated. She looked confused – what was coffee? “It’s a riddle.” He explained quickly.  
“Oh… Hang on what was it again?” She asked. Ed blinked – she seemed genuinely interested so he repeated it again. “Coffee, ah I get it. Clever.” She grinned at him. He returned the smile; it was nice to have someone appreciate his riddles for once.  
They stood in silence for a moment, [Y/N] trying to store the new riddle in her mind so she could try it on her sister later. She then realised she hadn’t taken the odd man’s order yet. “Oh I’m sorry – sp what was it you wanted?”  
“Coffee.” He stated smirking slightly as he dug in his coat’s pocket pulling out a torn piece of paper he had scribbled the orders on. He spun it so it faced her and she read the thin slanted scrawl.  
“Wow, that’s a lot of coffee!” she exclaimed, there had to be at least 10 different orders here. “Do you think you might have a bit of a caffeine problem?” she joked, though she was a bit concerned.  
His brow crinkled in confusion before he realised he hadn’t explained himself, “Oh no, sorry I’m - I work at the GCPD – coffee run.”  
Comprehension lit up her face. “Oooooh. That makes more sense.” She said as she turned to start the coffee machine for the first order on the list.  
Ed stepped to the side, out of the way of the main counter as he settled in for the long wait. He wanted to keep talking to the unusual girl but he had already learnt his lesson today about bugging people. That’s because you never say the right thing, chimed in his other voice. “Don’t you start.” He mumbled to himself.  
[Y/N] looked up and over at the lanky man – had he said something? He wasn’t looking at her so it obviously wasn’t direct to her if he had. Maybe he talked to himself. She couldn’t really judge him for that – she did it sometimes, it was something she had picked up from living alone. She studied the man out of the corner of her eye as she fiddled with the coffee machine in front of her.  
He was very tall and thin and wore a dark coat with a navy scarf open around his neck. He had dark hair with a long fringe that was a bit wind swept from the weather so it a few strands hung down onto his face and across his browlined glasses.  
He would be here for a while judging by the amount of coffee he wanted – maybe she ought to entertain him with a bit of chat, it wasn’t like she had anything else to do - she doubted she have any new customers for a while.  
“So are you a police officer then?” she questioned glancing over her shoulder. Ed’s head shot up in surprise at the question.  
“Uh, no – no I’m forensics.” He corrected, pushing his glassed up his nose with a long slim finger.  
“Ah – dead bodies.” She said simply with a small smile. “Is it also part of your job to fetch the coffees as well then?” she asked innocently. This irked Ed a bit. What was that suppose to mean? He was no menial coffee boy. She is being disrespectful – do something! Put her in her place – don’t let her talk to you like that – she’s only a barista!  
“No it is not.” He snapped annoyed. [Y/N] flinched at his sudden change in tone. His eyes had gotten darken and seemed almost swallowed by the shadow of his brow.  
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to insult you – it was more of a joke really.” She apologised, regretting her words. She turned back to her work, cursing herself silently for her putting her foot in it. Ed’s face lightened at the apology and he could practically hear his other-self growl at his lack of conviction.  
“No I’m – I’m sorry Miss. I – I shouldn’t have snapped.” He stammered, “Bad day.” He clarified. She turned back to him at his explanation.  
“I get it – no harm done.” She said sympathetically and Ed was surprised again by the young women – she was very forgiving. There’s nothing to forgive! Snarled the voice. Ed ignored it.  
By now [Y/N] had produced 4 coffees from the list and they sat in their cardboard cups on the counter in front of him. “Want to talk about it? I’m no bartender, but I’m the closest thing at this time of day.” She joked but he could tell she was genuinely offering an ear if he wanted.  
“Thank you for the offer Miss, but it’s nothing really.” He declined politely – he didn’t want to put his troubles on her pretty little shoulders. She looked at him like she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t push. He liked that.  
They fell into companionable silence after that until [Y/N] started working on the last coffee. Whilst the machine grinded the coffee beans behind her, she moved to the counter to add a slash of milk to one of the cups and force a plastic lid on the top. “So which one of these is yours?” she asked casually.  
“None of them.”  
“You mean you pick up all of these coffees and don’t get one yourself?” she asked bewildered.  
“Well I – I mean I could. I just – I.” he paused, “I just make my own.” He finished lamely. She looked at him curiously. The truth was he rarely ever got asked if he wanted a coffee when someone went on a run – he was usually forgotten about hidden away in his back office. It was probably for the best, last time he got a coffee it has tasted like tar. He found it easier now to bring his own which he could make in the staff room in his question mark mug.  
“I’ll make you one.” [Y/N] declared smiling at him. He looked taken aback at her boldness, but didn’t argue.  
Eventually all the coffees were completed and sat lined up on the counter – [Y/N] had numbered them all with a black marker in the order they appeared on the list so he didn’t mix them up. She found a cardboard box she was sure had been from a delivery of sugar a few weeks ago, and placed them all carefully in so the cups held each other upright. She slid the full box across the counter with the receipt.  
“Thank you very much Miss…?” Ed trailed off as he pulled his gloves over his slim hand.  
“[L/N], [Y/N] [L/N].”  
“Well thank you miss [L/N].” Ed smiled as he shifted the heavy box of the counter and into his long arm.  
“No problem.” She smiled back as she followed him to the café door and held it open for him. She watched him walk down the street back towards the police station not realising she was still holding the door and letting all the warmth out the café still a particularly strong gust of bitter cold whipped around her.  
“Opps!” she muttered at herself quickly closing the door and returning to the stock checking she had been completing in the storage room before the forensic man had turned up. As she walked past the fridge she caught sight of her reflection in the shiny metal and stopped dead. She was a state! She couldn’t believe the whole time she had been chatting with that man she had looked like this! Look at my hair! Look at all this flour! And – oh my god! Is that a piece of chocolate on my nose?!  
She felt her cheeks flush red and pulse speed as she quickly redid her hair and brushed her apron down as much as possible. She splashed some cold water onto her face and scrubbing every inch with a tea towel vigorously as if trying to wash away the shame just as much as the baking products.

Meanwhile Ed had trudging back through the cold wind to the precinct. He had delivered his box of coffee and was now sat down at his desk with his own cup in hand, studying the coffee receipt, making a mental note to give into reception to get it reimbursed. As he looked at it he noticed there were only 10 coffees listed on the piece of receipt, but he had 11 in his box. The one she made for him hadn’t been charged. Did she mean to do that? What if she hadn’t? Should he tell her? Stop overthinking and enjoy the damn drink! His other voice snapped at him.  
He took the advice for once. If he saw her again he’d ask - if she had meant to charge him he would just pay then and there. No problem.  
He sipped the coffee. It tasted delicious. It had spicy warmth to it and a hint of sweetness – it seemed to exactly match the girl he had met. Miss [Y/N] [L/N].


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello - anyone that reads this series! Its been a long time since I posted the first one, and I wasn’t sure if I was going to continue it, but I fancied writing something different to my usual so I thought I’d attempt to pick this back up again!
> 
> Not much happens in this chapter I’m afraid - I’m just trying to get back into my head space for this story and trying to figure out where I am going with it as well as keeping it relatively short!
> 
> Hope you Enjoy! (if anyone reads it!) :)
> 
> I love comments and feedback!

Although Edward Nygma still did not voluntary put his name for coffee duty, he no longer avoided it like the plague and never regretted going. Everyone had enjoyed the coffee he had delivered and so the new Coffee spot for the GCPD had become The Cup n’ Saucer – much to [Y/N]’s delight.  
Edward was not as thrilled. As much as he was glad he was contributing to the increase in customers for the young lady, he didn’t like it when he watched one of the younger, handsome interns doing a coffee run. For whatever reason this jealousy was occurring for, he couldn’t figure out – his eyes still firmly set on Miss Kringle – none the less he made a point of trying not to find out whose turn it was.  
His whooing of Miss Kringle had, of course, been postponed whilst she was with Officer Dougherty. But that hadn’t stopped him trying to spend as much time around her as possible in the records annex – making up excuses just to get files in the hopes of her being in there. This now meaning he had a large pile of unneeded folders sat on his desk which he needed to return discretely.  
For now though, he an actual information he needed to get from the archives. He headed to the room of files, carrying his a small card of handwritten names in one hand and a spare watermelon he had left over from more of his experiments. He had sliced it in half and removed chunks decoratively so it had the appearance of a basket. Inside he had arranged the fruit’s chopped flesh in cubes, some of which were impaled with small coloured plastic swords.  
As he sung the door open he stopped abruptly in the doorway when he was faced with Miss Kringle and Officer Dougherty stood barely an inch apart, locked in a kiss. The smile of greeting he had on his face dropped and he turned so that he pressed his back to the doorframe.  
The couple had pulled away at his entry, Kristen appearing self-conscious at the situation and, not meeting Dougherty’s eyes as she nodded in response to his words, attempting to hurry him along, whilst he seemed unfazed by the interruption.  
Ed stared his annoyance into the wooden frame opposite him as he waited for them to finish their conversation, rolling the watermelon ball between his hands as he fidgeted uncomfortably. He could Miss Kringle murmuring affirmations at Dougherty about meeting up later and he could feel his brow pull even lower as he frowned. He didn’t want to know that.  
Finally they parted and Officer Dougherty picked up his police cap he had left on top of one of the filing cabinets, it hung by his side as he strolled nonchalantly towards Ed, “How’s it hangin’ riddle man?” he asked, and Ed glanced at him quickly before returning his attention back to the wall in front of him. He was a bit taken aback at the casual vernacular and not entirely sure how to answer correctly to the phrase  
“Uh, it’s hanging –“ he paused - his eyes still firmly fixed in front of him - as Dougherty reached into the watermelon in his hands without invitation, picking up one of the small plastic swords and popping a cube of fruit into his mouth. He continued out the door without a pause, not waiting to hear the rest of Ed’s sentence, clearly not caring for the answer. “fine.” Finished Ed quietly.  
He remained in the door way as the officer walked away, hesitating as to what to do now.  
“Mr Nygma,” came Kristen from within the room, and he turned his head in her direction. Did he notice a slight wobble in her voice? “Did you need something?” she asked bluntly – any trace of a waver in her voice now gone.  
He turned so that he faced into the room, taking in the beautiful red head before him. She was in a simple long-sleeved green dress that fell to her knees and had a pair of dark heels on that he had memorised the signature click of from the times she walked past his office.   
“Oh, yes.” He said quickly, breaking out of his study of her, “Uh, Detective Gordon wanted me to go through the forensic evidence of these old murders.” He explained, handing her the card in his hand with a list of names.  
“Ok.” She breathed, reading through the list. Then he noticed the exposed skin of her left upper arm where she had rolled up the sleeves of her dress.  
“Are those bruises?” he questioned, his face clouding over as he took in the dark patches of purple that marred her smooth pale skin.  
“Uh,” She hesitated, pulling her arm closer to her and rolling down the sleeve to cover the marks.  
A realisation hit him from the words he had overheard a moment ago from Dougherty – So you forgive me? He could feel the anger forming inside him, “Did Officer Dougherty do this to you?” he asked in disbelief.  
“Uh, he was upset and he didn’t mean to, I said something’s I shouldn’t have and-“  
“Miss Kringle this isn’t right,” Ed cried out shaking his head, “He can’t just-  
“Mr Nygma,” Kristen broke in, “it is none of your concern.” She told him, a strong steely look in her eye. She seemed so confident, but he didn’t want her to have to handle this – she shouldn’t have to. Then teach the man some lessons.  
“Now I need to get start on these files so.” She trailed off as opened one filing cabinet, only to realised it was the wrong one move to the next one, forcing Ed to move out of the way as she pulled it open.  
Ed could tell she didn’t want to say anymore on the subject so he reluctantly dropped it. He heard her sigh and shake her head slight as he turned and his heart went out to her, wishing he could comfort her, save her. Then do it. She clearly didn’t want his help though. She just doesn’t know it.  
He fought down the voice in his head and he walked out the annex in defeat, watermelon basket still in hand. You could be her hero… sang the voice in his head. He could.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Y/N had been thrilled by the sudden increase of business, not only did she have the usual GCPD coffee round every day around midmorning, but she also had the odd officer at lunch and after their shift now as well. Plus some had even gone on to tell others how good the café was so she was seeing quite an increase in customers.  
She had the lanky forensic man to thank for that. Whoever he was.  
She regretted now not asking for his name – she owed him a lot and wanted to thank him but she felt awkward not knowing who he actually was. He had returned to the café only once since then and she’d been too busy to hold a conversation with him – for the first time ever actually run off her feet with customers!  
He hadn’t returned after that, young men and women - who she assumed were assistants or interns – instead of her tall forensic scientist. Now she was worrying that she had done something wrong which meant he wouldn’t ever come back – he had after all hated the fact that he had to get the coffee. Maybe he didn’t want to come back. Maybe she had been too forward giving him that coffee on the house. After all he was bound to have a girlfriend. Just because her love life consisted of books and her old family dog didn’t mean everyone’s did. Maybe she’d scared him off, she thought as she wiped down the empty refrigerated display shelves with a ragged cloth. It was the final hour before she closed for the night and a few customers loitered around enjoying the relaxing atmosphere and late night caffeine hit.   
Who was she to flirt with a guy after only knowing him for a few minutes? She had never been that bold before – and clearly for a good reason! She let out a loud sigh, bending over so she could rest her elbow on the counter and her head in her hand. She looked out the front café windows at the head lights that flew past in the darkening evening wishing she could just be in bed and wrapped up in her duvet and embarrassment.  
But instead she was here. There was no good moping around when there was work to do. So she pulled herself together and busied herself with the rest of the cleanup and prep she needed to do for tomorrow.  
But even as she stood in the small kitchen, beating away at ingredients in bowls and chopping veg for the next day, her mind could still travel - and did - to the mysterious riddle man.  
Having only seen him twice, and for short periods of time, his face was not clear in her memories and she doubted any image she had of him was accurate. She wanted to see him again. Needed to see him again. Just once. That would do her. Then she’d never have the need to think or see him again.  
It sounded weird, obsessive and downright ridiculous, but thinking about it now – as she washed and dried plates and cups - she realised it was exactly what she wanted.  
The problem was she, didn’t know who he was. She had no name to go on. She could pay the GCPD a visit and find out, but that felt a bit stalker-ish and creepy. No. She couldn’t do that, she thought, accidentally splashing soapy water over her apron. No, a sensible, normal person would just leave it to fate. They would wait here, doing their job, living their own life and just wait to see if he ever appeared again. If he didn’t, then he clearly didn’t want to see her again and that would just have to be that. She would just have to fine and live with it.  
And so she made up her mind to wait - sighing at the loud thoughts in her head that told her there was no chance she’d seem him again - as she grabbed a tea towel and began to dry the dishes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I had an ask the other day about whether I would continue this and didn’t realise how many notes the other pieces had - I thought no one liked them - so I hadn’t bothered!
> 
> But just for that one person that asked - here it is! Part 3! I had started writing this on my laptop but then it died so I had to rewrite it! Sorry it took so long for those that did actually want to read it!
> 
> Sorry if it’s not great - I wrote and edited the whole thing today so probably not my best work! haha
> 
> Enjoy! :)
> 
> As always, feel free to chat or send me a requests - I’m happy to give anything a go for any fandom! :D
> 
> If you want me to continue with this series pls let me know! Or if you want to be tagged etc. Drop me a line! I don’t bite! :D

Edward Nygma was usually a very focused person – his work always completed in record time without error or missing information. So, for numerous people now come to his office asking for documents he had yet to even start filling out was very unusual.  
But Ed couldn’t focus.  
His mind - instead of staying on the paperwork for Mr Henderson’s murder, which currently lay on the desk in front of him – was pulled to Miss Kringle and the image of the bruise on her arm which now felt permanently burned into his mind.  
He hated how powerless he felt sat here at his desk – doing nothing. But Miss Kringle had been quick to silence any offer of help by him and he wasn’t sure what he could do anyway. But the lack of action was getting to him and his mind, which instead chose to run away into an overactive imagination about how she could have got the mark and what more could happen to her if he didn’t do something.  
He felt useless. But he should leave - that’s what Miss Kringle wanted.  
Then, why couldn’t he?  
The human mind was complex after all – he of all people knew that. Was her refusal of help in fact a silent cry of help?  
Or was he foolish for thinking that, or foolish of thinking it was anything but that?  
Ed wasn’t sure, and this only frustrated him further – he couldn’t think clearly, his emotions clouding any sane or logical thought processes.  
What surprised Ed, was how quiet the voice in his head had been throughout most of the day. Or maybe it was just that Ed couldn’t distinguish between the voice in his mind and his own thoughts anymore – both just as dark and hateful as the other.  
Ed groaned quietly to himself in frustration as he crumpled up the notes in front of him, his handwriting barely legible and nothing of use on the pages anyway.   
He couldn’t just sit here and let the inevitable happen again. Because it was inevitable. Officer Dougherty had practically said so himself really when Ed had – against Miss Kringle’s wishes – gone to speaker to her assailant.  
Ed wasn’t sure where he had managed to pluck up enough courage to confront the police officer – especially when he had been surround by his goonish friends – maybe it had been the strength of his feelings for Miss Kringle, or maybe the bruise on her wrist that now haunted his mind.  
That confrontation, however, had been anything but a success.  
Ed had tried to be strong, stating firmly that he knew what Dougherty had done, but the man had simply responded with ‘And?’, uncaring in the slightest that his act of abuse had been uncovered. Ed’s blood had boiled at that, but the larger man had quickly shot him down any retort he’d had, easily finding Ed’s weak spot in his love life and clearly amused by Ed’s lack of intimacy with the opposite sex. Dougherty had then continued on, pointing out that Ed couldn’t possibly therefore understand that a woman needed a firm hand – especially Miss Kringle.  
Ed’s bravery had been fortified by this blatant lack of respect and he’d given one last, strong hearted attempt to stop the Officer by stating firmly that he would not let Dougherty hurt her again, trying to keep his wavering voice under control. But Dougherty saw through this bravery, stepping toward and encroaching on his personal space – a classic intimation move that Ed recognised immediately – then asking the one question Ed’s quick mind couldn’t answer under those conditions – what could Ed do?  
Ed had then been left speechless as a smug Dougherty had pushed past him, with a, “Later Riddle-man!”. Ed recalled the white noise that had screamed in his head and the momentary lapsed of control to the voice, forcing his hands to curl into fists at his side before he managed to regain control again.  
Even the memory of the encounter left Ed ashamed at how easily Dougherty had defeated him and he hung his head as he sat at his desk, his long fingers curling once more into fists on the top of his desk. He was restless now, agitated, like every nerve in his body wanted to react, lash out. He was struggling to keep himself in control.  
He couldn’t stand sitting here any longer and though he usually stayed late, he shoved himself roughly to his feet, snatching his car keys from his top drawer, not looking back or hesitating as he strode out of the building along with the others whose shift had just finished.  
As he drove down the darkening street he felt slightly better, just being out of the police station immediately calming his mind slightly, though he could still feel his shame niggling relentlessly at the back of his mind - so much so that - for the first time in many weeks - he forgot to cast his usual glance over at the dark window of ‘The Cup ‘n’ Saucer’ where he knew [Y/N] would we closing up, only the back-office light still on and just visible through the tall shop front windows.  
Tonight however, Ed kept his eyes on the tarmac in front of him, as he drove home, though he barely saw it, his body on autopilot as his mind continued to wander.  
He took the route that he often did which - although it added a few minutes to his journey - took him straight past Miss Kringle’s house. Before he knew what he was doing, Ed had pulled the car up between the vehicles of other residents of the street on the opposite side of the road to Miss Kringle’s door. He killed the engine and stared straight ahead at the tail lights of the parked car in front.  
He wasn’t sure why he came down this street, let alone why he was parked here – it was just a painful reminder – and he could only blame the other him for this – for wanting to punish him somehow.  
He rolled down his window, letting the cold night air flood into the car in an attempt to slap some sense into him. The wind stung his cheek and he knew he shouldn’t be here – there were laws against stalking after all. If you’re caught chuckled the voice.  
“Shut up.” Ed snarled at himself. “This is wrong. I’m going home.”  
But still he didn’t move, his mind feeling foggy and unclear and making it hard to make solid decisions. He sat there for at least 5 minutes, finding no urge to get out of the car, but at the same time finding it impossible to start the car and drive away.  
Movement in his driver wing mirror caught his attention and he glanced over his shoulder down the street to see Officer Dougherty, hands in his coat pocket and hunkered down against the cold, wandering up the other side of the street to where Ed sat.  
Ed was confused and alarmed for a moment as to why he was there, but he then sharply remembered the conversation he had walked in on in the records annex earlier between Miss Kringle and Officer Dougherty – it was date night.   
“Stop right there, buster!” Ed called determinedly out of his open window, scrambling to open the car door and unfolding himself out of the driver’s and into the wintery night.  
“Riddle man?” Called Officer Dougherty in confusion, turning to face Ed just before he took the steps to Miss Kringle’s front door, “What the hell are you doing creeping around here?” He asked, tilting his head and looked slightly off kilter - as though he may have been drinking recently.  
Now Ed was certain he had to stop this evening before it began.   
“You need to leave Miss Kringle alone.” Said Ed, loudly across the street, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they began to sting from the freezing night air, hunching his shoulders against the wind that howled up the street.  
Dougherty stepped off the pavement and began to move towards Ed, swaying slightly from side to side. “What?” He asked, bewildered as he stepped around a parked car.  
“I’m not gonna let you hurt her.” Ed said, his voice wavering slightly as the large, intoxicated man came closer, “Ever again.” He added, trying to hold firm. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, “I think you need to leave Gotham.” He said, his voice shaking and his words turning to steam in front of his face before drifting into the night sky. Dougherty continued to move closer. “Tonight.” Ed finished, his voice cracking slightly.  
Dougherty just laughed, glancing down the street, his footsteps were heavy and he stumbled slightly in his movements, “I get it now,” he chuckled, “You got a thing for my girl!” He exclaimed, spinning slightly to look back at the house where Miss Kringle was probably sat waiting for her date to show. He turned back to Ed, “That’s too funny.” He said, though he had stopped laughing and there was no trace of humour on his face anymore. Ed’s breathing was loud and shook like his muscles and he wasn’t sure if it was the cold night air or the fear of the man in front of him.   
Dougherty stepped closer and placed a hand on Ed’s shoulder, leaning in like a friend – “Don’t take this personal.” He said, before he pulled his free arm back and swung it into Ed’s stomach causing him to double over and fall to the floor on his knees.  
Ed couldn’t see anything. His vision black and red, his breath coming in short painful stabs. He wasn’t in control anymore. He found himself reaching into his coat pocket as Dougherty grabbed his shoulder, “Want some more?” the man asked, pulling Ed up, ready to have another go at him.  
As he stumbled back to his feet though, Ed followed his upward momentum with his arm and rammed the knife he had retrieved from his pocket straight up into Dougherty’s stomach.  
Ed steadied himself, one hand on the knife, the other on Dougherty’s chest to balance himself. He hesitated staring in shock at the handle of the blade sticking out of the officer’s torso, “Oh, dear.” Ed stammered, pulling the weapon out, the fresh blood shining in the overhead street light.  
Dougherty’s hand was still on Ed’s shoulder and he looked down at the wound in shock before falling forward onto Ed, grabbing his other shoulder. Ed acted instinctively, throwing his arm forward once more and driving the blade back into the man.  
He pulled back again, only hesitated a fraction of a second this time before he plunged the knife once more into the man’s body, watching in numb shock, his mouth open in horror at what he was doing. But then a frenzy seemed to overcome him, and he clenched his jaw, using all his strength to repeatedly drive the knife into the police officer, peppering his body with deep, fatal incisions.  
Eventually Dougherty couldn’t hold on any longer and Ed could only watch as the man - shock and disbelief in his eyes - fell to his knees in front of him, the officer’s hands still reaching out in front of him where they had gripped Ed’s shoulders a moment ago.  
“Riddle man…” Came the dying man’s last words before he collapsed over backwards – now a lifeless corpse.  
[Y/N] was heading home. It had been a relatively slow day and she wasn’t feeling very hopeful about reaching the rent for the café at the end of the month. She trailed around the back of the shop finishing her wipe down of all surfaces and tucking away a few papers that had been scattered on her desk/coffee table. At least she still had a bit of time to draw some more cash in, she comforted herself, she just had to think about what she could do to get some more interest in her ‘The Cup ‘n’ Saucer’ – maybe she could advertise? Though, that would just cost more money which she’d have to make up for somehow.   
Finally she closed up shop, turning the key in the lock and looking forlornly at the dark interior of her café through the window. She hoped she didn’t have to give it up – she was finally doing something she loved.  
She shook her head, there was nothing she could do right now – no point in worrying – and headed off down the dark street toward her home.  
Cars rushed past her as she walked, adding a chilly breeze to the already freezing November night and for the umpteenth time she wished she could afford a car of her own. It was an unnecessary expense at the moment however – one she definitely could not afford with the state of her café’s finances; besides, her house wasn’t too far away. Still it would beat walking along these icy streets each night, she thought – at least it wasn’t raining right now.   
She glanced across at the road and the cars she envied, picking out the silhouettes of drivers she wished she was as they flew past and - for a moment - she could have sworn one them had the exact outline and height of the man who had visited her café last week.  
She frowned. Highly unlikely that it was, but even if it had been, what did it matter? She had decided to put that man out of her mind now. Clearly their conversation the other day had meant completely nothing to him, so it shouldn’t continue affect her either – it especially shouldn’t mean she should start seeing him everywhere, she thought sternly to herself as she trekked home.  
[Y/N] spent the rest of her walk home through the maze of Gotham’s streets trying to avoid thinking about money and the about the mysterious man, though few other topics seemed to stick in her mind long before she managed to wind her way back to them.  
It was however, as she turned a corner into yet another street, that she was made to think about something completely different.   
The street before her was completely empty except for two men on the opposite side of the street, stood in the road. She frowned thinking it a bit odd – the shadowy men seemed to be embracing, neither moving – maybe it was the end of a date? Maybe she should leave quickly and not interrupt them.  
Just then one of the men drew back and pulling one arm free. He was slightly taller than the other man and much skinnier and appeared to be wearing some sort of trench coat and - was he holding something?  
She squinted slightly to see, her noisiness getting the better of her, but she couldn’t make it out from this distance so she edged closer, trying to move silently and slowly so as not to draw attention to her spying.  
The larger man seemed to almost collapse forward into the skinny one who immediately brought his arm to catch him. [Y/N] then watched in confusion and then horror as the skinnier man continued to withdraw and plunge his hand at the taller man – the action and the item he had held now all too clear – she was witnessing a stabbing.  
She froze where she was – she knew these things happened a lot in this city, but she’d yet to actually witness one and the situation was alien to her – what was she supposed to do?  
In the back of her mind she screamed at herself to call the police but the scene before her had her captivated and she couldn’t seem to look away.  
Then the larger man fell to his knees, “Riddleman…” She heard from across the silent road, then the man collapsed backwards, splaying out into a dead snow angel-like form.  
The tall skinny man seemed to watch the body for a bit, quietly mumbling something to himself that [Y/N] couldn’t hear from her distance.  
Ignorant to her own warnings, {Y/N] stepped closer, hiding behind the row of parked cars that lined the street, watching the shadowy figure intently.  
The man seemed to be breathing heavily as he stared at the body that now lay at his feet, “Oh dear. Oh dear” He seemed to breathe as he stared down at the man. He continued to mumble as he stepped around the body and into the middle of the street. The assailant seemed to then turn his gaze to the knife, observing the blood painting the blade and twisting it, admiring how it shone in the light above him. “Oh dear.” He said once more before he broke into hysterical laughter as he stared at the weapon in his hand and [Y/N] watched in in horror. Then he stopped laughing and he took a step back a little bit further so he was fully under the pool of light illuminated by the streetlight above, [Y/N] now clearly able to see exactly who the man was.  
[Y/N] couldn’t believe what she was seeing and brought one hand up to her mouth which was open in a silent scream. She soon snapped out of her frozen state, twisting around and running back the way, she’d come – back to a busy, more public street where she would lose the man or at least be safe amongst the rest of the commuters on their way to their own homes.  
Her feet pounded against the pavement and she cursed how noisy she was being – sure the mysterious man must have heard her if nothing else. Suddenly her legs slipped out from underneath her on a particularly icy paving slab and she fell painfully on one knee before the rest of her body collided with the floor. She cried out in pain but even that didn’t drown out the sound of footsteps behind her.  
A hand grabbed at her shoulder, yanking her around so she now lay on her back, looking up at the man she had spoken to at the café a week ago, bloody knife still in his hand and now wielded above her. She screamed in alarm and kicked out frantically, connecting with his legs several times and once to the stomach, unbalancing him and sending him sprawling backwards.  
That was enough for her and she scrambled to her feet quickly, sprinting back up the street before the man could regain his composure. Even in her speed she still saw his arm reach out to grab her as she ran, but she dodged it and dashed to the street corner, continuing to run until she reached a main road. She paused for breath for a moment, her legs shaking like crazy before she jogged the rest of the way home, jumpy at every movement in the shadows. She didn’t feel remotely safe until she had reached her home and had tightly bolted every lock in her house.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while to write this, and I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with it, but I've been sat editing it for ages now so I just need to post it and move on I think.  
> Sorry if it's not great!

Once I was sure everything in my house was locked and bolted I allowed myself to stop, leaning my hip into the kitchen counter as I caught my breath, and finally allowing myself to address what had just happened. I could already feel my mind trying to lock the image away deep in my mind to never confront again. But I couldn’t do that. The memory of the scene, the chase, the fall, the escape, all flashed back across my eyes and I felt my legs give way underneath me so I slid down the counter till I was curled up on the floor, by knees tight to my chest and the tears flowing hot and fast from my eyes.   
I was fast questioning my own eyes. Could that truly had happened? You heard about it a lot in the news – Gotham was famous for its crimes – but it had never quite sunk into with me that these things truly happened. Especially not right in front of me on my usual route home.  
My mind raced as I tried to come to some sense over what I had just witnessed. That man. The mysterious unnamed man from the coffee shop. The one I had practically fawned over in my mind for the past week. He was a murderer. I had seen him murder someone.   
And then he’d come after me.  
I gazed down at my grazed hands, the skin peeling over in places on my palms from where I had collided with the floor. He’d been so close. If I hadn’t managed to take him by surprise by fighting back I could well be dead right now. I shuddered at the thought.  
Something in the house creaked and I froze. Was he here? Had he found me? I held my breath, my heart loud in my ears and cold sweat on the nape of my neck.  
But nothing came.  
My senses were on overdrive, every groan in my ancient house sounding like a set of footsteps coming for me, the strong wind on the windows at the front of the house sounded like someone trying to break in. I was too terrified to look up and confirm or deny my overactive imagination, simply keeping my eyes on the tiled kitchen floor, rocking slightly. If I couldn’t see it, it couldn’t get me.   
I waited for my life to end.  
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, hugging myself tightly in the hopes of obtaining some comfort. Eventually, the exhaustion of the night caught up with me, overpowering my fear and giving me a false sense of almost calm. I pushed myself to my feet.  
But he still wasn’t here yet. Maybe he couldn’t find me.  
I shuffled over to my bag that sat a few feet away from me where I had thrown it down when I had raced into the house. I pulled out my phone. Why hadn’t I done this an hour ago? I dialled the police.  
At least I tried. The only answer on the other side of the line was static that then cut to complete silence.  
I frowned at the screen before trying again. Nothing.  
I had tried a few more times, even moving around the house to see if it was my signal. Same result.  
I couldn’t reach the emergency services, there was clearly something wrong with my phone or the connection.   
I began to panic. It was just me. I was on my own and vulnerable. I just prayed that the man couldn’t find me.  
But I couldn’t lie to myself. The man worked for the GCPD, but – thought I barely knew the man – he struck me as someone whose knowledge didn’t end with his job. I didn’t think it would take too long to figure out a way to find me.  
I stumbled, almost dazed, to the sofa and sunk myself down into the cushions, waiting for the inevitable.

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I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. The constant fear that the murderer could be stood outside my house right now was constantly at the forefront of my mind. Every noise made me flinch and send my heart racing painfully fast. I’d wish he’d just get it over and done with. This was worse than simply killing me. This was a slow painful torture.  
Eventually I had flicked on the TV, turning the volume up loud to drown out the sounds of the house, the voices from comedic soap keeping me company and making me feel less alone. I had stayed up all night, never feeling tired, adrenaline and fear far stronger than any caffeine.  
It was only when I began to see a dim light behind my tightly drawn curtains that my eyelids began to feel heavy. At that point I finally moved from my position on the couch and made myself some coffee. I wasn’t going to let myself sleep.  
I couldn’t believe I had survived the night. I wasn’t sure why I had. Throughout the night I had fruitlessly tried to contact the police again and again. Still to no avail. So why wasn’t I dead?  
I rubbed at my eyes, splashing some water from the sink onto my face, the cold making my skin tingle.  
I had made it through the night, I thought as I stared out my kitchen window, through the old, lacy blinds, the white no longer white. But now I had to survive the day.  
The rest of the morning I debated leaving the house all morning. Trying to figure out what I did now. It reached 6am, around the time I would leave to open the café, but I didn’t want to open my front door. It had become my shield. As long as that door was shut I was safe from every horror in the outside world. I didn’t want to go to work. I shouldn’t go to work. But I couldn’t afford to not go to work – I was barely scraping the barrel as it was.   
If I left I could get murdered and therefore there was no point in making the money. But if I didn’t go, I might not get murdered but I would lose all my money and therefore I would lose my job and then the house that was sheltering me.  
Clearly, the fact that the murderer hadn’t paid me a visit during the night, meant he didn’t currently know where I lived. Therefore, I had to leave before he did. I couldn’t hide in my house forever and the police was clearly not an option right now. Not on the phone anyway.   
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t report this in person.   
I needed to get to the police station. And soon.

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A few hours later I found myself sat on a bus heading to work. I never got the bus. It was a waste of money that I didn’t have. But it wasn’t safe for me to walk. It was barely safe to take the bus - not when I was most likely being hunted down by a murderer - but it had felt the only option left to me.  
Now I anxiously sat in the grimy passenger seats, my eyes itchy and aching from exhaustion, and the vibrations of the bus persistently trying to lull me into sleep. But I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to let down my guard for even a second. I had covered as much of my face as I could, thankful the weather was so cold that I could get away with a woolly hat pulled low and a thick scarf I could use like a cowl. My eyes watched the streets none the less, desperate to get a glimpse of him again, but also terrified to prove to myself that he was real and that he remained free to stalk the streets after me.  
The bus would drop me off a street from my café - which itself was only a short walk to the station. I ran the risk of the him waiting for me at the station – after all he worked there – but it was also a building full of cops. He couldn’t touch me.  
The minute I stepped off the bus I felt like I was on a timer, that I only a brief period to get myself to the ‘safehouse’ before the monsters in the shadows got me. The truth was, I was probably fine, that the killer was nowhere near me, but I still felt like eyes were burning into my back, his breath at my neck. I didn’t hesitate, hightailing it along the pavement, walking as fast as I could without breaking into a jog.  
I didn’t breathe properly till I was under the archway that framed the entrance way of the police station. I could feel sweat dampening my skin and my cheeks burned as I pushed from the cold air into the warmth of the station. I was out of breath as I made my way over to the main desk, my eyes searching each side for any sign of the unnamed man.  
“Miss [L/N]!” I jumped out of my skin, my head snapping forward again to face the person that now blocked my path. I stumbled back, putting space between me and the man before me. He was as I remembered him, tall, gangly, dressed in a cheap-looking suit, his hair neatly combed back. As I examine him again, everything about the guy told me I shouldn’t be afraid of him, but I was. I had watched him stand over a man, laughing after having stabbed him multiple times.  
I tried to turn away from him, side stepping and attempting to move around him to reach the desk. “Miss [L/N]! Please! A moment!” He begged, grabbing my arm to prevent me escaping. I struggled against his grasp and he seemed to realise I wasn’t giving up without a scene so he released me. “Please, can I talk with you?” he pleaded earnestly.   
“So you can murder me too?” I demanded angrily, “Fat chance!” I pushed past him now and stormed to the desk, leaving the skinny man behind me. “Excuse me!” I called across at the desk sergeant who was placing a few files away in a drawer, his back to me. “I need to report a crime.” I said ruthlessly, holding my head high – I didn’t care that the man was behind, or that he wanted me to stop.   
The policeman behind the desk finally turned around to face me, “Yes ma’am, how can I help?”  
I fought down the annoyance that rose at his blatant snub of my previous comments. “I need to report a crime.” I repeated, interlacing my shaking fingers and placing them on top of the desk, trying to keep myself calm after the shock of seeing him. “Last night, when I was walking home, I came across a fatal stabbing down Huldin street.”  
“Ok, ma’am.” The sergeant said, finally appearing to take me seriously, “And who was the victim?”  
“I don’t know,” I admitted, “I just ran - the murder saw me.” I explained and I couldn’t stop the panicky feeling creeping back on me as I remembered the night.  
The man nodded, “And can you identify the assailant?”  
“Yes.” I nodded, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, “I don’t know his name, but I believe he works here.” I turned my head, craning behind me for a glimpse of the man that only a moment ago had grabbed hold of me. “He’s very tall, wears glasses, works in you forensics department.”  
The desk sergeant looked at me blankly, “You think that one of the forensic teams committed a murder last night?” He asked clearly, clearly beginning to doubt my sanity.  
“Yes, he was here a moment ago.” I added, desperately searching the room.  
“Hey Jen!” The man behind the desk called to a passing woman in police uniform, “This woman seems to think one of the forensic team was out last night committing a murder!” H chuckled, a grin on his face, “What’d ya think of that?”  
She snorted, “Which one? The one who lives with his mother, the one who says all those annoying riddles, or the one that is afraid of the dark?” She laughed.  
“The riddle one!” I cried, snatching at the nugget of information, “He was the one I saw last night! He was stood over a man in the street, laughing!”  
“Look lady, people might be killers, but no one laughs when they murder someone unless their insane – do you think we’d hire an insane person?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at me, and I knew I couldn’t answer truthfully without getting myself in more trouble. “Do you think you drank something funny last night, one too many bottles of wine?”  
“I wasn’t drunk!” I yelled in frustration, “I hadn’t had anything to drink! I was coming back from work!” I cried desperately, pleading for him to believe me.  
“Look, lady.” The policeman began, turning his full attention back to me and talking slowly in an attempt to calm me. “Do you have any proof? Because we can’t just arrest people without proof.” He explained.  
“I – uh – well if you – maybe at the street, there might be – be something?” I asked, now seeing quite clearly that I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this man.  
“Uh-huh.” He muttered with a nod, diverting his eyes away from mine and down to some paperwork he began to shuffle through on his desk, done with my time wasting.  
I sighed, irritated. “Look.” I huffed, “Will you at least send someone over to the area – check that there’s nothing there? Please?” I begged.  
The man looked back up at my beseeching face before letting out a heavy, laboured sigh, “Alright.” He huffed, “I’ll get someone to check it out.”  
“Thank you.” I said, hesitating, wondering if it was worth pushing for him to do more, but I knew it wasn’t and I shoved myself away from the desk.  
I turned back to face the exit, unsure what to do now. My life could be in danger and the police didn’t even believe me. I didn’t feel safe, but I didn’t know what to do.  
I began to wander slowly towards the doors, hesitating under the large arch by the doorway. If I walked out of this building I could well be murdered, but this building itself held the murderer I was running from.  
I stared blankly out into the grey morning, unable to make a decision. It had started to rain and a few drops dribbled down the dirty panes of glass held in the large solid doors.  
“Miss [L/N]?” Came the voice again. I jumped slightly, but I didn’t turn this time. I didn’t want to face that man that was tearing my mind to pieces. “Miss [L/N]?” He persisted.  
“What?” I snapped, throwing a sharp glance over my shoulder at him.  
“Hi.” He greeted with an innocent grin, but I just scowled at him darkly before turning my face back to the window. “Look, I know what you think you saw last night –“ He began.  
“What I think I saw?!” I repeated back at him angrily, turning sharply to face him, not afraid of him – in this moment he was just an annoying – admittedly cute – guy who wouldn’t leave me be. “I know what I saw!” I snarled, “I saw you stab that man over and over till he fell to your feet,” The man backed up warily as I leant into him, jabbing my finger at his chest. He glanced nervously around to see if anyone was listening in, “I watched as you laughed – laughed! – at the fact he was dead!” I cried furiously.  
I could feel my breaths coming in sharp short breaths as I worked myself up. I was hit once more with the fact that I was lucky to be alive. I was sure that last night, had I not escaped him in that moment on the pavement, I would be a dead body alongside the other man. No one would have been left to stop him. “I will stop you.” I growled angrily at him.  
He looked taken aback, like he didn’t know where this was all coming from, then he looked nervous and slightly panicky. “Please, [Y/N], I need to explain!”  
“How can you possibly explain anything to me?! How can you justify murdering a man in anyway?” I demanded, but I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Look, leave me alone!” I told him angrily, “And if you even dare to come after me again – whether the police believe me or not – I will not be afraid to defend myself in anyway necessary!” I threatened, though I knew the threat was empty – just because he wasn’t afraid to cross a few lines, didn’t mean I could - but I hoped he couldn’t read that in my eyes. I needed him to be at least a bit wary of me. It would be the only thing that might just keep me alive for now.  
With that I turned and marched out the door, leaving him once more in my dust. I was surprised he didn’t follow me, but I didn’t look back, I didn’t stop. I went straight to the café, opening up as usual and getting everything ready for a normal. Because it would be a normal day. I would carry on my life as usual, but I would also stop that man. Whoever he was. I couldn’t stand by and watch him get away with it.   
But at the same time, the man who had pleaded with me, grabbed desperately at my arm. He didn’t scare me. His eyes were soft and vulnerable, his hands – though they had gripped at me – had still been almost gentle, and he hadn’t raise his voice at me once.   
But he was a murderer none the less. I had to remember that. I couldn’t forget it.  
I had to stop him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, so sorry it’s been a while, but I am trying to write where I can manage to find the time. Here is the next part - I’m not 100% happy with it but I wanted to get something posted, so I apologise if it’s not great!
> 
> If you have any requests, feel free to message me! I’ll accept anything!
> 
> I’d really appreciate any feedback or comments you can give me on my work! It’s been quiet recently and it just kind of gets me down! Sorry for being an attention seeker! haha

Ed stood in the centre of the room in, watching [Y/N] storm out of the precinct in front of him. He was hurt she had strode in, immediately attempting to turn him into the police – but then, wasn’t that what any sane rational person would do? And he and [Y/N] weren’t even friends. They’d had one conversation and she had made him a coffee. That was it. He couldn’t expect anything from her. Especially not to hide such a large, incriminating secret.  
But little did she know there was no evidence left to back up her statement. She didn’t know that Ed had spent all night and morning cleaning up after the event. That he had spent his office hours this morning pouring acid over the dismembered body parts of the once Officer Dougherty.  
She hadn’t considered that he might use his knowledge of crime scenes and experience of police investigations to ensure nothing could be traced back to him. And, of course, no one suspected lowly, weird Ed of being able to commit murder in the middle of a street.  
And – even if they might – they certainly would not want to spend any more time with him then they already had to – so they were unlikely to want to interview him. They preferred him where he always was, locked away in his office or lab where he couldn’t bug people with his irritating riddles.  
But no one was perfect, and Ed had, unwittingly at the time, managed to leave one piece of evidence to the event.   
[Y/N].   
She had seen.   
What was more the problem, there was no way that she would ever understand the accident had purely happened through self-defence - that Dougherty had attacked Ed first. She had only seen the latter part of the encounter. The part where he had stabbed Dougherty over and over.   
And maybe that hadn’t been the best solution to being punched by the large, burly man, but the sock to the stomach had felt like it had triggered a switch in Ed. Ed tried to comfort himself with the fact that shock does weird things to people. Maybe he had just been in shock. But he couldn’t help but think that the combination of the pain from the punch, the threat of being beaten to death and his hatred towards the man, all added to weaken the barriers in Ed’s mind enough to allow the darker to slip through and take control. Then he had stabbed the police officer. But not just once. Repeatedly. And he may have laughed.  
He couldn’t, however, justify why he had chased after [Y/N]. Yes, he had wanted to stop her, to explain. But he hadn’t. Not really.  
No, because dark Ed had been in charge, and all he wanted to do was silence the witness.   
Ed was glad [Y/N] had managed to break from him, or else he was pretty sure there would have been more than one dead body that night.  
It frightened him what he had done, especially when he’d suddenly come back to himself once the rain had hit his face. But he couldn’t help that, in the back of his mind, he had maybe, for a moment, enjoyed the thrill of the crime. The beginning of a game against the clock to not kept caught. Yes, he had panicked as he destroyed the evidence - the body, the knife, the blood stains on the street. But, the adrenaline had always remained in him.   
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The door slammed shut behind him as Ed entered his office again and it jolted him out of the memory of last night. He wanted to explain himself to [Y/N]. He didn’t like her thinking less of him. It hurt that she thought he was a cold-blooded murderer. You are though, came the voice. “No, I am not.” Ed muttered back as he made his way over to his crowded desk. The morning work was now piling up as he’d spent hours away from his desk - busy trying to burn away the remains of Dougherty’s body with a solution of very concentrated acid. Now he was going to have to work late into the night to catch up.  
He sighed heavily, dropping down into his seat.  
What was worse, Miss Kringle had almost caught him as well. She entered the lab whilst he was disposing of a few of Dougherty’s limbs and, despite him trying to distract her and stand in her view, she had seen the body. Luckily for Ed, thanks to having chopped the officer into little pieces of the convenience of moving and quicker destruction, Miss Kringle had been unable to identify the remains and - upon enquiring as to the reason behind the man’s death - Ed had managed to stumble over an excuse – stating it was a workplace accident – something the voice in his head enjoyed berated him for afterwards.   
Ed let his head drop into his hands as he leant his elbows on his desk, rubbing at his eyes under the lenses of his glasses and knocking his frames askew.  
Miss Kringle was fine. She didn’t believe a thing – though he wasn’t pleased how insistent she had been about trying to find Dougherty. She should be grateful came the voice your practically her hero.  
Wasn’t the voice right? Dougherty had clearly been drunk and would probably had made advances on Miss Kringle – possibly even hurt her more. It was better he was gone. Ed didn’t do anything wrong really.  
But clearly [Y/N] didn’t see it that way.  
[Y/N]. What was he going to do? Remove her too? Suggested the voice. “No. Shut up.” He snapped at himself, “She hasn’t done anything wrong.” But she knows. “But no believes her!” Ed exclaimed with a slightly hysterical laugh. “So it’s fine.” But she hates you now. “She should hate me.” He muttered grimly, “I’m a terrible person.” Ed sunk his head back into his hands.   
Ed spent the afternoon trying to focus on his work - though he found it difficult - often suddenly stopping halfway through a file to yell at himself for a while till the voice in the back of his mind shut up for a bit. Each conversation held the same theme though, the voice wanted [Y/N] ‘taken care of’. And Ed was now well aware that he was capable of it.  
It was later than usual that evening, when Ed finally called it a day. Thanks to his lack of concentration he had not managed to completely finish his work for the day, but neither could he face another folder. He grabbed his bag and headed out, the rest of the desks in the police station basically empty, except for a few people that had the late shift tonight. He nodded to them in farewell, but only a couple bothered to return the sentiment.  
He threw himself into his car and drove out of the precinct and off in the city centre. Except he didn’t.   
Similar to last night, Ed caught sight of the last glow of light in the café. [Y/N]’s café. He eased off of the accelerator. She was there. In the back of the shop, her shadow visible through the doorway into the small kitchen room. Soon Ed found himself applying the brakes and he was then parked outside the little shop, climbing out of his car and trying the door, slightly surprised to find it wasn’t locked yet.  
[Y/N] didn’t hear him. He didn’t really want her too, he’d knew she’d freak out and run away. But he couldn’t sneak up behind her. That was worse. He stopped a few steps inside the door and cleared his throat.   
She spun around quickly, her eyes wide, her features hidden in shadow, the lighting behind her only illuminating her back. “What are you doing in here?!” She demanded harshly across the room, immediately reaching for the first thing by her side for protection – grabbing a baking tray. She held it out like she was ready to bring it straight down on him – even though he was still at least 20 foot from her.  
“Well, you see – I – err –“ Ed stumbled, embarrassed and not really sure why he had come. This was a bad idea, she didn’t want to talk to him. “I – err – I never told you my name!” He latched at quickly, taking a step forward and reaching a hand out to her with a shrug of his shoulders.  
Even from this distance, her posture and the shadows under her eyes from the lighting suggested this was not amusing or pleasing to her – and definitely wasn’t going to change her attitude about him.  
“It’s Ed.” He said quickly, “Nygma.” He took a few more steps forward with a slightly awkward grin, trying to break the tension. Her posture still didn’t relax.  
“How nice.” She said dryly, not lowering the tray. “Now I know exactly who to report.”  
Ed gulped. This wasn’t going well. “Look – I know –“ He said, hurrying forward a bit faster.  
“No.” [Y/N] interrupted harshly and Ed stopped in his tracks, just short of the counter, [Y/N] still in the doorway of the kitchen. “Don’t come waltzing in here thinking you can convince me that what I saw wasn’t what I saw!” She snapped. “And don’t you dare think I won’t hesitate to do some serious damage if you even think of touching me!” She added, as he tried to move towards her again. She stepped back slightly, raising the tray higher. “Just get out of my café and leave me alone!” She demanded heatedly.  
“But – Miss [L/N] –“ Ed persisted, edging around the counter, his hands on the surface, leaning slightly towards her.   
“I may not be able to get you done for murder, but I have CCTV in here, and I can report you for breaking and entering! This café is closed!” She snapped.  
He straightened up, moving so the display case was behind him, and [Y/N] now stood directly in front of him, framed in the kitchen doorway, the bright, artificial lights throwing the room behind her into harsh light. “But you don’t understand –“ He said reaching out for her.  
[Y/N] brought the tray straight down on him, hitting his outstretched arm, shoulder and catching his forehead. “Ah!” He cried. And then he was no longer in control.  
He dropped his hand back behind him onto the counter, soon feeling it sneak to the right, reaching for the knife he saw at his side, where it was used to cut slices from the freshly made cakes.   
He felt completely detached. Like he felt nothing. Could do nothing. Like it was just a scene playing out before him. He vaguely knew what was happening was wrong, but he couldn’t think what else to do.  
He felt his fingers grip around the handle of the blade, yet at the same time he didn’t. It was like it was someone’s fingers, he was only getting the bare sensation of feeling the handle. It wasn’t completely him.  
He his arm pull towards him, bringing the knife with it. Why was there a weird pounding from his head? Was that liquid trickling down the side of his face?  
“Oh my God!” The words were shouted, but he only heard them faintly, like trying to hear underwater. “Your bleeding! I’m so sorry!” Ed felt himself blink, though it felt like slow motion, his arm with the blade pausing, still most obscured behind his back. Suddenly there was a pressure to his head, though he felt no pain, then a single singer tip brushed his face accidentally and he felt like he was suddenly thrown back into his body with a jolt.   
His head felt like agony.  
He dropped the blade - forgotten the minute he became aware of the sharp stabbing ache in his forehead - “Ahh!” He cried in agony, reaching for the painful spot which pounded at his skull. His fingers touched another hand, already pressing against the wound, though the minute her made contact, the other hand withdrew as sharply as if it had been burnt. Something soft fluttered off his face and landed on the floor.  
“Sorry!” [Y/N] apologised, bending over to retrieve the napkin now soaked in blood. “I’ll get a clean one.” She spun on the spot and disappeared into the kitchen as Ed held his hand to his forehead, feeling wisps of hair on his hand, sticky with congealing blood. He closed his eyes in a grimace of pain. Then he felt a hand at his, pulling it away and replacing it with another napkin. Ed held the rough material to his head, a new surge of pain washing over him at the renewal of pressure to the wound.   
“Ah!”  
“Ooo…” Hissed [Y/N] in sympathy. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you in here, and I know you’re a murderer,” She said hastily, “but there is no need for me to stoop to beating someone – I honestly didn’t mean to do that much damage.” She winced again when Ed removed the napkin and inspected the blood-soaked rag before replacing it. “You might need a doctor. Look –“ She disappeared again only to reappear a moment later. “Take these. Leave. Go to a hospital. Please don’t come back.” She begged handing out a handful of napkins to him.  
Ed took that as his leave, grateful to receive the mediocre first aid, and headed out of the café without pushing the woman any further. “And don’t drive!” Came the final shout from across the room. Ed only hesitated slightly before he pushed the door and left.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
‘Don’t drive’. How ridiculous, thought Y/N, cursing herself. Sure, the man probably had a concussion, but he was a murderer, she shouldn’t care if he passed out and crashed the car. She should be glad. But she wouldn’t be. She tried to tell herself it was because he might hurt someone else - but she was kidding herself. She was constantly kidding herself. She thought she could smack him with a baking tray without a care. And when he reached for her she almost thought she could. But then when she’d finally looked up at the man she had seen those soft brown eyes, the way his long fringe had fallen chaotically over his face, and then she had noticed the blood soaking into the strands, and the slow red trickle working its way down the side of his face. That had broken her heart.  
It shouldn’t. He was a murderer as she kept reminding herself. At the very least he deserved some pain, some blood.  
But she wasn’t sure what it was. She just didn’t like the idea of him hurt. When she looked at him she didn’t see the man in alley. She saw the man in her café. She had wanted to act tough, but she knew she wasn’t being completely honest when she said she’d report him again. When she said she didn’t want him there.   
Because the truth was, she kind of did. Before she knew he was a murderer she had liked him, and she had felt sorry she hadn’t seen him again since their first meeting.   
Maybe it was because she wasn’t in the alley, that there wasn’t a dead body in front of her eyes, that she had somehow become weirdly dissociated from it all now she was back to her normal life. Like she could easily pass it off as a bad dream – and she wished she could. But something told her that wasn’t right. That it would be ruining the memory of the poor man who had died last night.  
She owed it to whoever he was to stop Ed Nygma. To make him pay.  
With that she shut up the café and went home, feeling safe in the fact that Edward Nygma would be suffering from a killer headache all evening and, in turn, wouldn’t be out on the streets seeking another victim tonight.


End file.
